


a favourable answer

by 1001cranes



Series: Tumblr Fics [1]
Category: Misfits, Silence of the Lambs (1991), Suits (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), White Collar, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Gen, M/M, Misfits AU, Multi, Mutation, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fics written for tumblr prompts, updated with:</p><p>Derek/Stiles; crossover with Cosmo Jarvis's Gay Pirates<br/>Peter/Stiles/Derek; Alpha!Stiles and scheming Hales<br/>Isaac/Erica/Jackson; the club<br/>Lydia/Jackson/Danny; the Kanima is spoiled for choice<br/>Peter/Isaac; Daddy issues</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of ficlets and more fic-length prompts that I wrote for tumblr the other day. Each chapter has a pairing and prompt, which I've noted so you can skip to the ones you are most interested in :)
> 
> I. Wolverine!Derek/Iceman!Stiles, 1.3k  
> II. Erica/Stiles, bonding over Dr. Who, 500 words  
> III. Stiles/Peter/Derek, wolves can have more than one mate, 500 words  
> IV. Peter/Stiles, Silence of the Lambs AU, 300 words  
> V. Peter/Stiles, Suits AU, 300 words  
> VI. Peter/Stiles, White Collar AU, 100 words  
> VII. Derek/Stiles, Supernatural AU with Crowley, 200 words  
> VIII. Derek/Stiles/Laurent, surviving post-apocalypse, 500 words  
> IX. Derek/Stiles, Scott/Allison, Danny/Jackson, Misfits AU, 700 words  
> X. Derek/Stiles; crossover with Cosmo Jarvis's Gay Pirates, 500 words  
> XI. Peter/Stiles/Derek; Alpha!Stiles and scheming Hales, 900 words  
> XII. Isaac/Erica/Jackson; the club, 600 words  
> XIII. Lydia/Jackson/Danny; the Kanima is spoiled for choice, 400 words  
> XIV. Peter/Isaac; Daddy issues, 300 words
> 
> also! for those who don't know, I'm roseandthebeast on tumblr. lots of teen wolf, a sprinkling of many other things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for soulbind, who requested 'Derek/Stiles, X-Men. Because the world needs more Wolverine!Derek.'
> 
> The best/worst part of this was trying to figure out what Stiles's mutation would be. At first I was thinking superspeed, super reflexes, because Stiles being able to talk and process even faster would be _fantastic_ ; but he also reminds me of comics 'verse Iceman - the jokes, and self-depreciation, and untapped potential.
> 
> That I have a semi-weird thing for Logan/Bobby is another problem entirely.

To say Derek scares Stiles is an understatement. Derek _terrifies_ Stiles, and this is only partly because the man has six inch long metal claws in his hands. The other part is because Derek totally has it out for Stiles.

"No, really!" Stiles protests, when Scott bursts out laughing. "He follows me everywhere, lurking, okay, lurking and plotting my _death_ , I just know it. And seriously, it's not like I knew that was his rocky road, do you seriously think I would have eaten _Derek's rocky road_? I don't have a deathwish."

"He's not trying to kill you," Scott argues, and Stiles scoffs.

"Sure he's not. He's probably trying to figure out how to make it look like an accident." The Professor frowns upon mutant-upon-mutant homicide, Stiles is pretty sure.

"No," Scott says, and raises his eyebrows, the way he does when he tries to say something very meaningful and significant. "I mean, he's not trying to kill you." 

"You say tomato, I say _murder_."

"No, Stiles. Derek. Is not. Trying to murder you."

"Are you okay?" Stiles is pretty sure repeating yourself is a sign of stroke.

Scott slumps in his seat. "Allison said I couldn't tell you."

"That Derek is trying to kill me?!"

"No! That... he's not trying to kill you. Just following you. The thing I can't tell you."

"Not following," Stiles sighs, and lets his head hit the tabletop. "Doomed," he moans, and then makes a little ball of ice in the palm of his hand to press to his forehead, because ow, that hurt.

| |

In English Stiles sits behind Lydia, she of the (literally) flaming red hair and utter terrifying intellect. It makes concentrating even more difficult that normal, but Stiles could probably pass a high school English class, like, yesterday, so he really only panics when he gets cold-called. Or when Derek shows up. Again.

Stiles has a moment where he wants to protest - "He doesn't even _go_ here!" - because Derek is like, technically really old and eternally a very stubbly twenty-something, and definitely way past needing to take high school English. But Derek is also the school's first line of security - excepting when Isaac's flighty but admittedly powerful precognitive instincts kick in, in which case everyone should _run for the fucking hills -_ so Derek has a free run of pretty much whereever he wants. 

Minus the room Stiles shares with Scott.

Though Stiles is pretty sure Derek paces that hallway fairly exclusively.

Stiles spends the rest of the period staring at Lydia's flickering hair, but the only thing he really feels is the weight of Derek's gaze on his back.

| |

"I'm gonna go talk to Derek," Stiles announces, and is completely unprepared for the way Scott's face brightens.

"Awesome!" he says, and grins, and why is Stiles's best friend so happy about his imminent death? "I knew you'd figure it out."

"I figured," Stiles says haughtily. "That I would face my death with dignity. In the hour of my own choosing."

"Is that from a movie?" Scott asks, attention already back to his sandwich, and Stiles has to stop and watch for a second because, really, if you've never seen a half-man, half-wolf scarf down a turkey sandwich on rye, you should really pencil it in.

| |

Derek is actually kind of an expert lurker, for also being a bit of a stalker, and the only place Stiles can think of to actually ambush him is the kitchen at five-thirty in the godforsaken morning, when he gets in from his runs.

"So," he says, and Derek freezes. Carton of orange juice halfway to his mouth - note to self, if Stiles lives through this, the orange juice is _also_ Derek's. "You've kind of been stalking me."

Derek jerks his shoulders up. "No I haven't."

It's the most bald-faced, horribly told lie Stiles has seen since the time Scott tried to convince his mother his mutation was a Halloween costume he was trying out. In March. That he couldn't take off.

"You can hear yourself lie right now, right?" Stiles asks, and the faintest tinge of red appears on the top of Derek's cheekbones. "Like, you hear how bad that was."

"Yes," Derek growls, stalks over to the kitchen table.

"Because I think I've heard small children lie better. Small children trying to blame their messes on imaginary friends," Stiles continues, until he's pretty sure he sees the glint of metal between Derek's knuckles, oh shit. "Right, so. Original point. You've been stalking me."

"Yes," Derek grits out.

"Just, uhm. Could you not? Please?"

"Yes," Derek says again. Pushes through his teeth. "I'll stop. We done?"

"Yes?" Stiles says, because this is not exactly how he expected it to go. It's very confusing. "Yeah, that's -"

"Sorry," Derek adds, quietly. 

"Uh," Stiles says, because something here Does Not Compute. Derek doesn't apologize. Like, ever. Even when he crashed Professor Harris's motorcycle - which couldn't actually have happened to a nicer person, heh. "It's okay? I mean, it's creepy, a bit, don't get me wrong. But don't feel like you have to run off into the woods and go all feral again, or anything. It's a big mansion." Stiles isn't trying to send the guy into a mental breakdown for the second time in a year. Coming back from going feral isn't a simple thing - hell, Peter _still_ hasn't managed it.

"It is," Derek agrees, and something about the set of his shoulders is a little easier. 

"Glad we had this little chat," Stiles says, and flees.

| |

Stiles can only take Scott making sad puppy eyes at him for so long. It's gotten particularly worse ever since he actually sprouted those adorable little fangs.

"What?" he asks, and Scott just shakes his head.

"I can't tell you."

"What use are you then, jeez." Stiles sulks for a minute. "Seriously though, it's been like this - "

Oh.

"Why are you giving me the puppy eyes for Derek?"

Scott shrugs. "I couldn't say."

"Oh my God," Stiles says, and throws up his hands. "It's not like these are state secrets, for fuck's sake, I'm about to go ask Erica to do a card reading."

Stiles brow furrows. "But she blows up the cards."

"I'm desperate!" Stiles hisses. "I am _confused_!"

"Derek isn't."

"Desperate? Or confused?"

Scott pauses. "Both. Neither. Derek's neither."

"So he's...?"

Scott shrugs. "Lonely, maybe."

"Lonely," Stiles says flatly. "Are you telling me - was that some weirdo Twilight shit?"

"Couldn't tell you."

"Scott!"

"No, seriously, I have no idea what that means. Allison prefers The Vampire Diaries," Scott says, serious, and Stiles takes a minute to practice his deep breathing.

"I'm gonna go talk to him again," Stiles decides. "Like. Right now."

"He's teaching in the Danger Room today," Scott says, and gives him the thumbs up.

| |

"So you like me," is Stiles's brilliant opener. In his defense, he's not great on his feet sometimes.

Derek freezes again, and Stiles continues before Derek can continue with one of his terrible attempts at lying.

"You could have just _said_."

Derek stares at him for a minute. "I'm not really great with - talking," and Stiles laughs, because _wow_ , so true.

"Sorry!" he says, when Derek's face darkens. "I mean, yeah, I agree, but - six words, really, maybe seven if you wanted to personalize."

"Six words?"

"Will you go out with me," Stiles prompts. "Plus, you know, the upward inflection on the end to indicate a question."

Derek stares at him for so long that Stiles thinks he might he bungled this _entirely_.

"Stiles," he says. "Will you go out with me."

Not quite a question, Stiles thinks. Grins. Because hey, they'll work on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for ending that one so abruptly, but for a second there I almost wrote them an entire epic. whew.
> 
> Derek could have the most heartwrenching origins story ever - still Kate Argent being evil, but Derek's powers manifested and saved him from the fire BUT HE COULDNT SAVE HIS FAMILY *gross sobbing* also he still gets recruited by the military for experiments, and Deaton's there, really trying to help the mutants and do good work, but then Gerard Argent swoops in and fucks up all the shit.
> 
> and Lydia would be a great St. John because I want her to be the type of St. John who writes romance novels and when people try to throw shade she is like BITCH I HAVE BEEN ON THE NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER LIST FIFTEEN TIMES SUCK IT NICHOLAS SPARKS and probably moonlights in someone's physics laboratory anyway, suck it Lisa Randall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For sodiumdandilate, who asked for 'Doctor who or teen wolf, blonde person x brunette person, Rockford the asshole cat," which immediately made me think of Stiles and Erica bonding over Who. Because they should be scifi bros. Bros who make out. I want this to be a thing.

"What do you mean you skipped Nine," Stiles practically shrieks, and Erica hides her wince with a shrug.

"I don't know!" she says. "I heard the first season of New Who was pretty cheesy. And I'm not really a Rose fan, so - 

"Blasphemy!" Stiles yells again, though at a much more acceptable level this time. He probably noticed the wince. He is pretty Batman that way. "Well, okay, not really the Rose bit, I'm not a fan either - "

"Uh, yeah, hello. I think Isaac has a crush on Billie Piper. If I have to watch Doomsday one more time..." She doesn't even _like_ Rose, and it still tears her to pieces.

"Rough." Stiles sympathizes, really. "Scott spent last summer obsessed with Summer Glau. I never thought I'd say it, but there really are only so many times you can watch Firefly."

Erica rolls her eyes. "Now who's talking blasphemy," and Stiles laughs. 

"Look. We'll start with The Empty Child, and The Doctor Dances, and if you don't like Nine after that..." Stiles trails off, obviously trying to think of a proper insult.

"You'll what?"

"I don't even know. It is that egregious of an error in your judgement," and Erica can't stop smiling.

"You want snacks?" she asks instead, and roots through the dry cupboard in the kitchen. Her mom isn't around much, but she keeps the house well-stocked. And now that Erica burns three or four times more calories than she used to, you can bet she's taking advantage of it. "We've got Oreos, and Doritos, and - kettle chips? And Coke, I think."

"Oreos!" Stiles shouts, and continues to fiddle with the DVD player. It's kind of temperamental. 

Erica takes the Oreos and big glasses of milk. Screw it, she's a dunker. Oreos and milk, scones and tea, biscotti and coffee - baked goods and liquids go together.

About the same time the kid starts asking for his mummy, Stiles gets a little antsy.

"If you're going to try a yawn and stretch," Erica starts, and Stiles freezes in anticipation of the threat. "Just get it over with now."

It's a long, agonizing moment - Stiles's heartbeat practically tripping over itself - but his arm comes slowly up and around her shoulders. Trembling, slightly, as he tries to figure out exactly where to put his hand.

"You could still have yawned," Erica says. "For authenticity."

Stiles unstiffens a little, next to her. Smiles at where their feet are propped up on the coffee table. Nudging one another. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

They get it to the part where everybody lives before they start making out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FTR, I think skipping Nine is sacrilege. SACRILEGE.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for magdalyna, who wanted 'Peter/Stiles/Derek --- Wolves can have more than one mate'

Peter should have known his obsession with the Stilinski boy was something more than tactical. He was a little distracted with killing Kate Argent at the time, but that's no excuse.

After coming back from the dead - and so inelegantly - Peter was going to have to work for it, a little. Because Stiles isn't stupid; there are a lot of traits Peter could tolerate in a mate, but _stupid_ isn't one of them. He is starved for affection, however. A perfect storm of personality and circumstance: loving but busy father, a best friend too concerned with his own crisis for anyone else. Not a lot of other people in his corner, though Stiles always seemed to be in theirs. 

Loyalty is a good quality.

So it's easier than it should be, maybe, to get Stiles to trust him. To let Peter in - to his life. To his bed. Stiles still doesn't _trust_ Peter, not entirely, but Peter knows that will happen with time. Stiles can't keep himself at a distance from someone who professes to need him.

Not necessarily a good quality. 

"What do you know about werewolves' mates?" Peter asks, and he feels the way Stiles's heart stutters. He bites Stiles until he bruises, and feels more alive than he has since he dropped back down to Beta.

Derek showing up at Stiles's window one night isn't exactly a surprise. Though from the look on Derek's face, the fact that Peter is already there certainly is. Not the smartest of werewolves, Derek; not emotionally. Not entirely his fault, Peter has to admit. Emotionally crippled is not an imperfect phrase. It hurts Peter, when he stops to think about it: the difference between the man on the windowsill and the child Peter used to hold in his lap. Play tag with, running through the forests. 

They both lost something, he thinks. They so often forget they have that middle ground.

Peter isn't, in particular, a cruel man. A clever one, yes, and certainly who always looks out for his own ends. That might seem cruel, sometimes. But Peter doesn't do it for a laugh.

Before Derek has a chance to flee, Peter rouses Stiles. Shakes him gently, and he nearly bolts awake. 

"Derek's here," Peter says, and Stiles blinks up at him sleepily. 

"Oh." Stiles inhales deeply, halfway to a yawn, and turns his back towards Derek. Not as an insult, but as a show of trust. Buries his face in Peter's chest. "Get in here, sour wolf. S'cold."

Derek capitulates far quicker than Peter would have guessed. Pulling off his bloodstained shirt and dropping it to the floor, sliding into the bed next to Stiles. The way Derek pushes his face into Stiles's neck and breathes tells Peter all he needs to know.

Stiles is generous, and loyal, and loving. Peter doesn't doubt Stiles has a enough room in his heart for Peter _and_ Derek. 

And really, it never hurts to have an Alpha in your bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for stilinskiinvestigations, who wanted 'Peter/Stiles, Silence of the Lambs AU (Hannibal!Peter and Clarice!Stiles)'

"Why did they send you?" Peter asks. "Do you think."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "I'm pretty good at my job, believe it or not." That Stiles is as good as Peter's type is too obvious to mention. Maybe he'll have a chance to throw it in Peter's face later.

"Hmm. And a second generation cop." Peter tsks, and lean forward. "Am I correct?"

"Yeah, more or less," Stiles says. Unfazed, because who cares. From what he's heard about Hale, there are probably deeper, darker secrets that will come up. "My dad was a Sheriff."

"Was."

"Retired. Not dead, or anything. In case you were wondering."

When Peter smiles, the creases at the corner of his eyes deepen attractively. Make him seem handsome, in an almost old-fashioned way. As if you could trust him. Must have served him well as a psychiatrist, all those years. "But your mother is. Dead, I mean."

Stiles doesn't bother to hide the hurt that flashes across his face. His eyes are too expressive, and Peter is too good. Stiles might be able to draw Peter in though. If he's careful.  "She is. Has been for a long time."

"But it still hurts you."

"Most people miss their dead mothers," Stiles counters. "Particularly when they die slowly. And mommy issues? Really? I know high schoolers taking AP Psych who could do better than that."

Peter sighs. Stands up and takes a moment to pace around his cell. "You're right. Stiles, you're right." He pulls a face. Exaggeratedly sad. "I should really bring my A-Game, if you're trying to trick information out of me about the Wolfman."

Stiles froze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find this one particularly exciting because the end of Hannibal (the book, not the movie) would work fantastically with this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for newbornnebulae, who wanted a Peter/Stiles Suits AU. 
> 
> wayyyyy more fun if Peter is a werewolf.

The thing is, Stiles has kind of made his peace with not being able to be a lawyer. It was a reality he had to accept. Stiles is good at realities. He's got bills to pay, after all.

Which is why he's hoping to get out of this situation with the briefcase of money still in hand, and the situation is looking less and less promising. He is going to _kill_ Scott.

"You're not really here to interview," Mr. Hale says, and Stiles's attention snaps back to the conversation.

"You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley", he blurts out. Panicked. "I - I have ADHD. It's not as bad as it used to be, when I'm stressed - 

"No. That's not it." Hale tilts his head. "And I believe the statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley moot post-2007."

"Not if you can find actions to cover up the violation as establishied in the sixth circuit," Stiles continues, because when has his brain ever shut up when he wanted it to? Pretty much never. "May 2008."

"Interesting," Hale says, and stands. "Particularly - like I said - since you're not really here to interview." He steps around the desk, and leans against the side of it just next to Stiles's chair. "Interesting indeed," one thumb tracing the line of Stiles's jaw, and Stiles can't help swallowing so loud the sound might as well echo in the room. "I have a proposition for you, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles lifts his head. Far enough that Mr. Hale's hand drops away. "Stiles is fine."

Mr. Hale laughs softly. Delighted. "Stiles, then. You can call me Peter. And I'd like if very much if you came to lunch with me." Peter stops to throw his jacket over one arm, and pauses at the door. "I promise your briefcase of likely illegal cash will be quite safe."

So very, very fucked, Stiles thought sadly, and followed Peter as he swept from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish someone else could write a million words of this because OH LORD, Peter!Stiles and Neal!Peter (not confusing at all) would totally make my life. I can just imagine Peter breaking out of prison with four months left on his sentence, trying to get to his nephew, trying to figure out what Kate Argent did to Derek.

"You realize this is contingent on good behavior," Stiles warns him, ankle bracelet newly clipped around Peter's ankle, and Peter raises one sardonic eyebrow.

"I'm always on good behavior," Peter says, somewhere between sweet-as-pie and mild-as-milk. It's amazing. Stiles _knows_ it's a con and he _still_ wants to trust him. "Haven't you heard?"

"I remember Budapest," is what Stiles says, and the way Peter smiles - grins, really, as much as he tries to hide it - tells Stiles that Peter remembers it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND LO, PETER TRIED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF STILES, BUT AGENT STILINSKI WAS A SMART MAN, A GOOD MAN, AND GAVE ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKS ABOUT ANY OF PETER'S TRICKS. AND ALONG THE WAY THEY KEEP RUNNING INTO THE ARGENTS, WHO ARE ACTUALLY KIND OF DOUCHEBAGS DESPITE TENDING TO WORK ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE LAW (KATE ARGENT ASIDE). AND THEY FIND DEREK AND HE'S (MOSTLY) OKAY AND PETER PROBABLY RUNS BUT HE LEAVES TRINKETS FOR STILES, THINGS HE ACTUALLY BUYS BECAUSE OTHERWISE STILES JUST TURNS THEM OVER AND THEY SIT IN EVIDENCE LOCKERS, HOW _PEDESTRIAN_ , AND ALSO, THEY WILL ALWAYS HAVE BUDAPEST.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for trensu, who wanted a Sterek Supernatural AU, with bonus!Crowley

"You can't actually handle wolfsbane. You remember that, right?"

"I can handle it," Derek says, stubbornly, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Sure you can. It just burns your fingers and makes you whine like a baby for the next six hours. No big deal. Not gonna be trapped in a small space with you or anything."

"Stiles - "

"Give me the wolfsbane."

Derek's scowl deepens. "No."

"I swear to God - "

"Careful." Crowley swans into the room as though the locked hotel door were of little consequence, one of his more annoying shit-eating grins on his face. "Keep that up, and people might think you're in _love_."

Stiles throws his hands over his faces and flops back onto the bed. "Why me, Lord. What have I ever done but hunt down the wicked demonic things that roam this earth?"

"You killed your mother," Crowley says conversationally, and Stiles tries to feel like he hasn't just been stabbed through the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for mmarycontrary, who wanted Derek/Stiles/Laurent, apocalypse AU, surviving after the end of the world

The totally non-hilarious thing about it all, Stiles thinks, is that no one actually expects the apocalypse. And then you don't expect to live through it, certainly, and when you do - what the hell is there _to_ do? 

"Could finally go to Disneyworld," Laurent says, and Derek's snort is not quite a laugh.

"So cliche," Stiles says. "No, we need like - Canada's Wonderland." There's a rollercoaster there that drops at like, 80 degrees.

"Left my passport in Beacon Hills," Laurent adds mournfully, and Stiles does giggle, a little.

What he's found out is that sometimes, if you don't laugh, you're just gonna end up crying.

| |

Stiles is luckier than most. Luckier than most of the world's population, actually, for a given value of lucky. Lucky for not having suffered in what happened after. Lucky to have two werewolves at his side with the ability to tear apart anything or anyone they come across, if they need to.

His dad wasn't so lucky. Neither was Scott, or basically anyone else Stiles has even known. There are days it doesn't feel real, honestly, and that gets Stiles through pretty well. When werewolves entered his life, he hit surreal and never really stopped climbing.

| |

One of the upsides about the whole thing, Stiles has to admit, is that the sky always looks so gorgeous now.

"What's it like for you," he asks. Head nestled in Derek's chest, while Laurent curls up above the both of them. On lookout. "The stars, I mean."

Derek pauses. "They're always there. Fainter, during the day. But there."

"They ripple," Laurent says, "dance, every color you've ever dreamed of," because while he doesn't talk quite as much as Stiles, he certainly has a better way about it. "You've seen picture of the Northern Lights?"

"It's like that all the time," Derek confirms, and Stiles sighs.

| |

Derek and Laurent talk about giving Stiles the bite. Often. It's the only fight they really have, the three of them. Laurent is almost adamant about it - because he's the Alpha, maybe. Should be more than two werewolves in a pack, Derek confides. Three is enough, but only barely. Laurent must itch with it all the time.

Derek isn't as sure as Laurent. He wants Stiles to be safe, but there's no denying the danger of being bitten in the first place. The days Stiles would be sick and defenseless, if he survived at all. Why risk death again, deliberately, if Stiles doesn't want it?

The worst part, for Stiles, is that he can't stalk off somewhere to sulk. He likes a good sulk after he fights with someone, whether it was his dad, or Scott, or the twins. He just wants to clear his head. Cry, if he can't laugh, and he hates having an audience for it. Hates that they can smell the salt of his tears, the waves of anger. The way his heart beats doubletime. 

There are downsides to living with werewolves, is what he guesses he's saying.

He just wants to die as a human. He's lived as one, all this time, against all the odds. Doesn't feel right to die as anything different. Post-apocalypse, Stiles might just have a different idea about what surviving really means. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for desfinado, who wanted a Misfits AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally spent like a hour in bed just dreamily thinking about this, because I love all superpower AUs everrrr. Stiles immediately pops to mind as a Nathan, particularly in the period before he figured out he had a power. Poor Stiles. You're awesome, don't you worry. 
> 
> TW for reference to off-screen rape. 

Life was pretty bad before they managed to kill Kate.

Not that life is a cakewalk now, Stiles thinks gloomily. He's still a juvenile offender. He's still scrubbing godforsaken graffiti off of all the public buildings in Beacon Hills, and Stiles did  _not_  realize how prevalent it was until he was the one losing all the skin around his knuckles from scrubbing, damn.

At least the great state of California has seen fit to replace Kate with Ms Morrell, who seems distinctly nicer, if a lot more mysterious. Which is probably a good thing, and maybe that should have been a hint; Kate wanted to be so _chummy_ with everyone.

Probably should have been another hint when the rest of the juvenile delinquents started disappearing. Though Stiles guesses that's what people assume JDs do. Society and its expectations. What a bitch.

The thing is - Stiles can't feel too bad about the whole thing, because Kate had it  _coming_.

Sounds harsh, right? Stiles normally isn't that kind of person, really, but he doesn't know how else to think about a woman that used her new-found powers to suck the life out of people like some kind of psychic vampire. Not to mention that Stiles had a pretty sickening gut feeling that she'd managed to corner Jackson at some point or another. Poor dude. Christ. Stiles has seen Danny look at Jackson a little sideways, sometimes, like he'd caught a stray thought he didn't like. 

But what the fuck was there to do now. Kate's dead. They'd buried her. They'd burned her. She's gone. 

Stiles whistles to himself as he drags the garbage bags out into the alleyway behind the community center. He's on cleanup duty with Scott, which is slightly better than being stuck with Jackson and Danny scrubbing the bathrooms. Or Allison, sorting through the donation box. You _really_ never knew what you were going to find in there.

Maybe Stiles has been lulled into a false sense of security, because he when he sees the body he _screams_.

A few seconds later the rest of the JDs burst out of the side doors, and Stiles has to scream again when the body is not actually a body at all, but some passed out _naked guy_ who jumps to his feet and runs away.

"Did I just see a naked guy run off?" Stiles asks, when he finally gets this normal voice back. " _Naked_?"

"Yup," Scott says, nonplussed as always, "yeah, you kind of did. I'll take the trash out tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles repeats faintly, and Scott slaps him on the back.

"Did he look kind of wolfy, to you?" Allison asks, squinting, and Stiles squeaks.

"No! No, not wolfy in the least." At least not any of the bits Stiles was looking at, and _shit_ , now Danny is giving him a weird look. "Nothing to see here!" Stiles announces loudly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek is obviously werewolf guy, though way more interested in Stiles than in his parental figure.
> 
> And in keeping with the original powers, Jackson sends people into a sexual frenzy, Allison can turn back time, Scott can become invisible, and Danny can read minds. Deaton can take powers away or give them to other people. 
> 
> Jackson and Danny eventually get together; at first Jackson thinks Danny is reading his mind ALL THE TIME and gets paranoid and then a little depressed that Danny doesn't make a move, like maybe it's a power trip, or Danny just doesn't _want_ him. But then he finally realizes that Danny doesn't actually know Jackson wants him to make a move, because Danny is big on boundaries, and Danny's pretty sure poking in people's heads when they don't want you to is crossing a line. Plus, Jackson doesn't really know how he's supposed to do relationships anymore, what the with no-touching thing, and honestly, I'm thinking there's a lot of really hot frotting, and then Danny suggests Jackson tie him down, and Jackson can touch Danny as much as he wants, he has Danny's permission, really.
> 
> Scott and Allison are totally adorable with each other from day one, and their powers actually don't change their relationship all that much, other than Scott's invisibility makes it a lot easier to sneak in and out of Allison's house.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sterek ficlet based on Cosmo Jarvis's Gay Pirate song (except less heartbreaking...or at least give it a happy ending)?
> 
> For Trensu

Derek hears Stiles before he sees him - the voice that comes down from the rigging, the soft, creaky unevenness of a boy just past puberty. Singing dirty songs that made some of the most hardened sailors blush.

“My dad was in the Navy,” Stiles says cheerfully over dinner than night. Everything still good, and mainly fresh, only a night out. “If you thought those were bad, wait until you hear the one about the mermaid and the tuna,” and Peter roars with laughter.

He’s a good cabin boy, Derek admits. Takes to the rigging like he was born in it, trimming the sails with the best of them, and dinner is never late when he brings it, though he’s nearly spilled it a time or two. Surprisingly unsteady on decks. The first time Derek touches Stiles is when he moves to catch Stiles, tripping over an unwatched bucket.

“Oh,” Stiles says, and god, what are eyelashes like that doing on a boy anyway? “Thanks!”

“I prefer not to eat my dinner off the deck,” Derek growls, and behind him Isaac snickers. “Watch where you’re going.”

He knows Stiles makes a face behind his back, but Derek’s too focused on the pounding of his heart to care.

| |

It keeps happening, somehow. Derek catching hold of Stiles - handing him things, and catching the tips of his fingers. Getting stuck next to him at dinner, their thighs pressed together, seamless, in the cramped galley space.

The worst part, maybe, is that Stiles feels it too - swings between sharp wisecracks and utter silence. Jiggles his leg next to Derek, until Jackson yells at him to stop, or Boyd throws the moldiest bit of tack he can find.

It would be easier, Derek is certain, if it were only him.

| |

“I’m yours, you know,” Stiles whispers. Eyes round and scared in the dark. “I’m yours,” like he’s begging for Derek to say it back, and he can’t, he _can’t_. He feels it - he feels it all through him, the way he never did with Kate, but he still can’t say it. What they’re doing is dangerous, maddeningly so, however many friends they have amongst the crew. There are so few places on a ship to hide, and no place to run if they’re caught. Derek’s uncle might be the captain, but he couldn’t protect them, even if he wanted. Stiles deserves more than this shitty place. Deserves more than Derek. 

“Only a few more weeks until we reach London,” Stiles says, wistfully. “My dad lives there, I told you, right? He’s sort of retired. Does something in one of the offices, I don’t know. I hope we’re docked long enough to see him.”

“We’ll see him,” Derek says, and Stiles’s smile brightens, suddenly, and Derek feels his heart swell with all the things he can’t quite say. “We can - no matter what.” If he has to abandon ship, to never come back - every ship loses a few sailors whenever it docks, always. Common knowledge. He doesn’t know if Stiles wants to do that, though. Desert with him. Quite literally jump ship.

Maybe, when they get to London, Derek will have the guts to ask.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for niquesse-e:
> 
> Peter/Stiles/Derek where Stiles is the bamf, sly teenage alpha who keeps in line his hot-tempered top betas wile he may or may not be using seduction and sexual frustration as a way to channel Peter’s and Derek’s… spare energy. For the pack’s good of course.

Stiles remembers the first time he saw the Hale boys. Hale men, really, but there was something about a pair of betas, unaccompanied by an Alpha, that made them seem lost. Certainly weak. 

But not weak now, Stiles thinks. Not together.

He hadn’t been looking for more betas then. Stiles had enough, more than enough in a pack so young – Scott, of course; Stiles’s first, his oldest friend, the most obvious choice; Boyd had been next, had become Stiles’s enforcer and right hand. A steadying presence, even to Stiles. It was his suggestion that brought in Erica and Isaac close after. Erica became Stiles’s confidante, played the femme fatale when the part was needed; and Isaac functioned as a moral conscience, when Stiles worried his might have gone awry. Last - though not least, as she was so quick to remind him - Lydia rounded out the brains and the needed human component. There was a balance to it, a function for everyone, a place in the pecking order, and Stiles didn’t need more betas – certainly not betas who’d recently lost their Alpha, were reeling from it, running to a burnt out husk of a house. Stiles had nearly ripped Derek’s throat out, and it had taken the rest of the pack to hold Peter down. 

The early days weren’t easy. They’d expected to come back to a Beacon Hills empty of werewolves - which was foolish, as far as Stiles was concerned. The Hale fire was a tragedy, a cautionary tale, certainly, but it didn’t make Beacon Hills cursed; why wouldn’t a pack settle in a place that was unclaimed, near forests and mountains, and empty of Hunters? And so Derek seethed. Choked under the rule of an Alpha younger than he was; still in high school, still with a curfew, chemistry homework and a third-hand Jeep that constantly threatened to fall to pieces. Peter, meanwhile, had plotted to overthrow Stiles the minute he could find the opportunity. Stiles could feel it in his bones, on the back of his neck. In the way Boyd always stood directly behind him, and Isaac carefully examining his hands next to him.

It had been a dilemma, for Stiles. He didn’t want to kick them out – not now, not from the only home they seemed to have left, not with Argents back in town – but he wasn’t going to lose the family he’d pulled together with his teeth.

Erica had given him the idea, finally.

“I had a crush on you, you know,” she said. “When you asked me if I wanted the bite.”

“I know,” Stiles said, because of course he did. Could smell the rush of arousal every time he had come near her. It was lessened, now – Erica and Boyd were happy together, sometimes almost disgustingly, but that didn’t mean the inherent attraction had ever gone away.

“I wouldn’t say it was the only reason I said yes,” she continued, and the sideways look she gives him is considering. “But it helped.”

Stiles wasn’t unaware that Peter and Derek were attracted to him. A side effect of the being the Alpha, he thinks; Stiles makes up some of this stuff as he goes along. He doesn’t feel like acting on it, generally. Feels honestly skeevy about the whole thing, but – desperate times.

He tried Peter, first, and Peter was easy, but perhaps Stiles should have expected that. Peter is cunning, was desperate to advance his place in the pack; being fucked by the Alpha wasn’t exactly a downgrade. They’d wrestled for dominance, but not seriously – Peter’s hands digging into Stiles’s hips, into his ass, urging him for harder, for faster. He’d let Stiles bite him, and hard enough to leave bruises for a satisfying period of time. Stiles had licked Peter from head to toe, nearly; had given Peter the blowjob of his life, holding him down by the hips. Slicing them open when he’d struggled. 

Derek had been more difficult. Had smelled Peter on Stiles, and swung his eyes to his uncle, like a betrayal.

Peter had shrugged. “I’ve reconsidered my position.”

“Many positions,” Stiles had snickered, and let Derek seethe more. He made his interest known, and obvious – pinned Derek during training, longer than necessary, and harder. Smelled the crook of Derek’s neck, bit it. Yanked on his hair. Scott watched, open-mouthed; Lydia was more amused.

Derek had pride. Wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing for very long. Couldn’t, really, and when he’d finally snapped he and Stiles had fought for real. Dirty, and mean. Though he’d seemed a bit thrown when Stiles had begged Derek to fuck him.

“What?” Stiles had groaned. Peter still watching from the sidelines, the rest of the betas long gone. “Alphas can’t get fucked? Alphas can’t _want_ to get fucked?” and Peter had laughed, had come over to draw Derek in towards them. Derek was – bewildered, to put it mildly, and though Stiles got harder when Derek started to fuck him, when Derek’s eyes flared blue, he can’t deny that his heart had done something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know canon!Scott sees the bite as a curse, but I think a large part of that was the nonconsensual nature of the original bite, and all the murder and terror that followed. If Stiles became/was a werewolf, and it was something he and Scott talked about and discussed (particularly if Stiles had been a werewolf for a long time), I don’t think it would be out of the question for Scott to want to be a werewolf. /possibly unpopular opinion


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for trcunning
> 
> 'isaac/erica/jackson, that gif from the club'

Seems like everyone in Beacon Hills is wondering what’s happening with Reyes and Lahey, but not Jackson. He knows. He’s not stupid. McCall gets bit; suddenly he’s a lacrosse superstar. Reyes got an injection of hotness, apparently, and she’s let it go to her head. Not that Jackson blames her. He knows what it’s like. People doing stuff for you, just because they want to fuck you. And Lahey - maybe it’s just the bite, maybe just being out from under his father’s thumb. Jackson doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. 

Seems like he doesn’t know a lot, lately. Like he can’t keep it in his head. He can see how he’s fucking it up - Lydia, Danny, lacrosse, school - he can see it spiraling away from him, but he doesn’t know how to stop it, or he can’t, maybe. Just knows that it’s fucked up.

It’s why he’s here, maybe. Take the chance to de-stress. To dance, and sweat, and be among a hundred other people who could actually give less of a fuck than he could. When Reyes and Lahey start to dance next to him, dance with him, Jackson lets it happen. Pulls the three of them together, sweaty, shirts becoming damp with it, with how fucking hot it is in this place. Fifteen degrees too hot. Sweat dripping off everyone, cologne and perfume, whatever they’ve slathered on to hide their natural scent. It’s too much, it’s weird, the whole mess of them, and it’s a strange kind of relief, Isaac at his back, Erica at his front. Two distinct scents - waxy, a little cool; sweeter and weirdly complex - two distinct shapes, two heart beats barely off from one another. Nothing like the beat of the music, and yet -

Jackson kisses his way down the line of Erica’s jaw, her neck. Scent rising up, thicker - not just sweet but dark, a little bitter - and she yanks him up to kiss him, one hand on the back of his neck like an iron bar. In a way that should scare him, but doesn’t. She uses more teeth than Lydia ever did - would ever have let herself go enough to use - and Jackson hisses, a little, into her mouth. Not quite a sob.

Isaac and Erica stop, for a moment. Barely enough to be noticed before they’re dancing again, hands at the back of Jackson’s neck, the small of his back, but Jackson notices. They’re looking at each other over Jackson’s shoulder - speaking silently, eyes and eyebrows and the tilt of Erica’s mouth. After a moment, Erica kisses him again. More gently this time, enough for Jackson to suck Erica’s bottom lip into his mouth, let the fake-cherry of her lipgloss spread over his tongue.

“You’re going to be good for us,” she says. “Right, Jackson?”

Something in Jackson rebels, at that. At even the question. Another part of him - the part of him that wants to be slotted in between the two of them, that’s trying to curb his racing heart to match theirs, the part of him that’s so desperate for attention he’d go looking for it in a murderer’s teeth - tilts his head back against Isaac’s shoulder. Easy enough for the both of them to nuzzle his neck, one side for each of them, and when they bite down Jackson feels forgiven for something he didn’t know he was hurting from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackson should always have a master, or two.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for polytropic-liar
> 
> Lydia/Jackson/Danny, the Kanima didn’t so much seek as master as start out spoiled for choice.

Lydia honestly believes it’s something of a requirement to be at least a little in love with your best friend. Exhibit A: Scott and Stiles, who were heterosexual(ish) life partners, if there ever was such a thing. Exhibit B:  Lydia’s admitted - inwardly, never outwardly - crush on Allison that went a little deeper than her vintage jackets. And of course Exhibit C: Jackson’s ‘I’m everyone’s type’ mancrush on Danny. Lydia had always had the sense to keep an eye on Jackson and Danny - not because she’d thought Danny was a gay cockmonster who couldn’t control himself, but because Jackson certainly couldn’t.

It’s something of an irony, then, that she’s found herself here.

She didn’t believe Stiles at first, when he told her about the Kanima. But it had made more and more sense - Jackson’s weird behavior, the murders, the archaic Latin translation, the dreams, the things she’d seen - Lydia never planned on being a cryptozoologist, but if a cryptid fell into her lap, well.

He needs a master, they’d told her. Or maybe a friend. Lydia’s already half of one, six dozen of another. Always has been. But there’s something else Jackson needs. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t something of a master; Lydia’s heard all of the jokes, thank you - pussy-whipped, bitch-slapped down, controlled by the coochie - could high school boys be more vulgar? And she could deny it, but the first thing that came to mind was Danny. The only person who’s ever loved Jackson as much as her.

They’ve found it’s best when Lydia takes charge. When she orders Jackson around. Tells him to use his mouth on Danny, or her. To open himself up. But Danny always gets to decide when he comes.

“Don’t pretend, Jackson,” she says. She has beard burn in the innermost parts of her thighs, and Danny is kissing her gently, thoroughly - someone taught the boy to kiss, that’s for sure - play-ignoring Jackson in the way that drives him mad. “We all know this is what you’ve always wanted.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for Jig-Reynolds
> 
> 'Peter/Isaac? Because Peter is a creeper who needs someone devoted he can manipulate, and Isaac has daddy issues (to put it mildly).'

Isaac isn’t Peter’s first choice, but Peter knows he’s overplayed a few of his hands. Lydia will never trust him - a price he’s more than willing to pay for a resurrection, but a pity nonetheless - and Stiles, as tempting as he is, is entirely too much of a gamble. Two of Derek’s betas are in the wind, lost, and Derek is nearly a sure thing, if a long game. Peter needs something to occupy his time, the here-and-now. Needs some instant gratification, and he’s self-aware enough to realize it.

Isaac is just what he needs. Isaac, tall and strong and incredibly in control for one so young. Isaac, who hunches so no one notices him, who never speaks up unless forced. Isaac, who’s stuck with Derek through all this  _mess_ , loyal to a fault, to a glorious extreme. Isaac, who aches for a kind touch, a kind word - lashing back from it, curling up into it, a pile of conflicting emotions that Peter will work himself into, slow and gently, until the strings of Isaac’s little universe are tied to the tips of Peter’s fingers, and he can play them with the skill beyond any puppeteer. 

| |

“It’s all right,” Peter whispers. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” the nickname Isaac hates but craves, and he swipes away Isaac’s tears with the pads of his fingers, delicate and sure, while Isaac tries to hide his face in Peter’s chest. Tries to hide those beautiful grey eyes. “Say it again,” Peter urges instead, the writhe of Isaac’s body increasing as the scent of self-loathing does, the scent of shame, of arousal _._ “Say it again,” and when Isaac warbles out, “ _daddy_ ,” Peter cries too, with the force of how hard he comes. With the depth of his inability to hold himself back.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] a favorable answer ficlet three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/634753) by [majoline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majoline/pseuds/majoline)




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